Fresh Fallen
by Moismyname
Summary: After the angels fall, Sam and Dean find newly human Cas and bring him home.


_NOTE: This story has been basically complete in my head for a couple of months. So I finally got off my lazy butt and wrote it down. My first ever Supernatural fic, posted just in time to (probably) be shredded by the S9 premiere... haha._

When they finally heard from Cas three days after the angels fell, he turned out to be surprisingly nearby. Only 30 minutes after Dean and Sam left Kevin behind at the bunker, they were pulling into the parking lot of the gas-n-sip where Cas had called from what had to be the last public pay phone in the central U.S. He looked like he hadn't slept, eaten, or bathed in those three days, slumped over, elbows on knees on the bus stop bench. He told them in a listless voice from the backseat of the Impala that he was finally able to call them after some good Samaritan had handed over their spare change and a cup of coffee as they left the store, apparently mistaking him for a homeless person. Which, now that Dean thought about it, he guessed that's what Cas was. Homeless_._

And human. _Damn_.

It was enough to make Dean feel kinda bad for the guy.

He and Sam were mostly quiet on the drive back, only occasionally speculating in low voices about exactly what the hell had happened in Heaven with Naomi and Metatron and the ex-angel now passed out in the backseat, and what the hell, if anything, could be done about it. Dean could see Sam frowning worriedly over his shoulder, and he gave a glance in the rearview mirror. No doubt – Cas looked like warmed over shit, and honestly he kinda smelled like it, too. Sam was not his usual self, still dealing with the after-effects of the Hell trials, but at least he was upright and conscious and determined to figure this whole freakin' mess out. He was no longer resigned to being the sacrificial lamb he'd been prepared to be a few days earlier.

"Seriously, Dean, you think we're gonna be able to fix him? Find his grace? I mean, it could have landed anywhere, and in that hailstorm of angels…." His voiced trailed off.

"Yeah, I know," Dean sighed with a slight shrug. "I dunno, man. Maybe Cas'll have some idea." He could hope.

* * *

Parked back at the bunker, they'd tried to wake Cas, first gently ("Cas, buddy…c'mon man. We're here."), then decidedly less gently ("Cas. Cas! Hey, get up, man! I am not carrying your ass out of this car, so help me…"), with absolutely no effect other than a few flickers of eyelid. He was all but comatose. So Dean ended up dragging Cas bodily from the back seat and kind of propping him up and half walking him inside, while Sam hovered at his other side and opened doors and frowned with worry.

"Where should we put him? Sofa? Chair? Shower?" He scrunched his nose. "I mean I know we have those extra rooms, but they're not set up. We could just let him sleep it off on one of the old mattresses for now," Sam offered, but Dean was already shaking his head.

"Naw, man. The mattresses in those rooms smell like the attic in some little old lady's house." They did, too – Kevin had already commented on it while he'd Febreze'd the hell out of the one in the room where he had set himself up. I guess no matter how tightly the bunker had been sealed up in the absence of the Men of Letters, there was no getting around the fact that a 60-year-old mattress smells exactly like you would expect a 60-year-old mattress to smell.

Sam paused in the hallway. "Well, _where _then?"

Dean shifted Cas' weight a little with his hip. Damn, he was heavy for a little nerdy dude ("_but no more wings,_" his mind helpfully supplied). "Ugh, crap." Executive decision. "C'mon, let's put him in my room for now. Get the door for me, okay."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"What? _What? _ Gotta put him somewhere, Sam." Dean tightened his grip and pushed past his brother. This hallway was not wide enough to stand here and debate the issue.

After stepping forward to open the door, Sam backed out of the way and watched as Dean deposited the ex-angel on his bed, less than gracefully. Not that it mattered; Castiel was still unconscious.

Glancing at the filthy clothes and shoes contrasted against the crisp white sheets and military corners of the bedding, Sam commented, "I'm just surprised you're letting him in your _room_ in his state, much less your beloved bed." He chuckled. "Besides, I think Cas probably smells worse than any old mattress. Where has he been hiding the last few days, anyway? A dumpster?"

Dean shot a glare at his gigantic little brother. "Could be. Maybe we can ask him when he wakes up." Seeing the sufficiently shamed look on Sam's face, he continued, "But you're right. Let's get at least the outer layer of grime off here." He rolled Cas to his side and peeled off the trench coat and suit jacket, holding them out for Sam to take, which he did with a grimace. Then Dean pulled off Cas' shoes and tucked them under the edge of the bed before getting up and walking back out of the room with Sam, turning off the light as they went.

* * *

Back out in the library, Kevin looked up from his books and notes. "Is he okay?"

"Seems to be," Sam answered as he joined Kevin at the table. "He doesn't appear to be hurt, just exhausted." Dean gripped the back of another chair as if he meant to pull it out to sit, then stood back up, agitated and unable to stand still. Sam watched him with mild concern and caught the same concern on Kevin's face. Until Dean stopped pacing and fixed them both with a look, jaw set and mouth tight. Then he rolled his eyes with a, "Whatever, I'm getting a shower," as he stalked away from the table.

Kevin stared after him for a moment, then turned wide eyes back to Sam. "Is _he_ okay?" tipping his head meaningfully in the direction Dean had gone.

Shrugging his confusion, Sam looked past Kevin toward the hallway. "I don't know what's going on there." Sam had honestly expected Dean to be relieved now that they'd found Cas and brought him back to the bunker and safety.

* * *

Standing under the steamy spray – bless the Men of Letters and their awesome water pressure! – Dean had caught himself thinking about how Cas couldn't just zap himself clean anymore. Which sucked because, yeah, sure showers are one of life's little pleasures, especially when you're filthy and tired and achy so you just stand in the hot water until you start to feel human again. But Cas had only ever flirted with humanity before, and Dean was getting a bad feeling that this time it was going to turn out to be a long term relationship.

So it would start with little things like learning to shower, remembering to eat, needing to sleep. And it would move on to other things like practicing with firearms (and remembering that now those can hurt), learning to drive (and how to steal a car in an emergency), adjusting to a newly lowered tolerance for alcohol (and how to cope with a hangover).

And eventually, probably, sex.

_Oh god, someone was going to have to give Cas "The Talk."_

Dean tried to shake the thought away quickly as he turned off the water and pulled a towel from the rack. Drying himself off, he reached for the clothes he had been wearing this morning. Geez, they _reeked_. He crammed them into the hamper where Sam had gingerly deposited the dirty, smelly jacket and trench coat earlier. _Crap_. He grabbed the robe from the hook and wrapped himself up, then stepped down the hall to his doorway. Dean stood there a moment, watching the angel (_"ex-angel"_ his mind corrected) breathing deeply in sleep. He thought of the Castiel he'd met in that shitty, post-Apocalyptic future, and hoped and, yes, _prayed_ to anybody who might still be listening that this Cas, _his Cas_, wasn't already set on that path.

Cas' eyelids twitched, and a frown passed across his face like a cloud.

Dean's breath caught in his throat.

Cas opened his eyes and blinked. He turned his head and looked to where Dean was still silhouetted in the doorway. "Dean?"

Dean breathed again. "Yeah, Cas." He stepped into the room.

Cas pushed himself up into a sitting position with a grunt. "Where am I? Is this the bunker?" He squinted at the darkened room.

Dean stepped over and switched on the lamp beside the bed, then pulled a chair over as Cas blinked some more, blue eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. "Uh, yeah. Bunker. My room, actually."

Cas looked up, surprised. "Oh." He glanced back down, where his fingers were fidgeting with the sheet. "I like this bed. It's very comfortable." His eyes met Dean's.

A smile ghosted across Dean's face. "Memory foam."

Cas tilted his head in confusion. "Your bed remembers you?" He frowned back down at the bedding, dubious.

Dean huffed out a laugh at that. "Yeah. It does." Cas remained unconvinced. "And hey man, y'know what?" He tapped Cas on the knee. "Now it remembers you, too."

* * *

From the hallway where he had been on his way to check up on Cas, Sam could hear his brother rifling through dresser drawers. "Here, this should fit. Now, you go get showered, and I'll go find you something to eat as soon as I get dressed. Okay?" Eyes wide, Sam did an about-face and headed back out to the library, smiling brightly at Kevin, "Um yeah, he's okay."


End file.
